Daily Archives: April 23, 2014

Dating Dilemmas for the Crazy; when to spill the beans.

Because day to day living isn’t hard enough to navigate with bipolar disorder or other SMI (serious mental illness) let’s add dating and see if you can manage a relationship […]

ARRRGGGHHH!!

Ah……I feel better now. Nothing like a little primal scream therapy to get rid of some frustration.

Make that a LOT of frustration. I have never in my life sucked so badly at a job (with the possible exception of telephone solicitation, a position I held some thirty years ago…..for about four hours). I’ve been at this now for almost four months, and it’s just not getting any better. I try and try, but I forget what little I have learned when the pressure is on and I know my trainer is right behind me, judging every single move I make and typing it into his laptop.

Today we had a talk about how I’m progressing, or rather, NOT progressing. And let me tell you, I am thankful beyond words that Dr. Awesomesauce left me on the Zyprexa, because that is the reason I’ve been able to remain professional and take the barrage of criticism without running off into the bathroom to cry. I feel SO BAD about this. I had such high hopes for this job, and I know my superiors had high hopes for me as well; but the simple truth is, I STINK AT IT.

I’m inept, clumsy, slow, forgetful, and too chatty with the staff. (I remember all too well what it was like being on the receiving end of surveys, and I try to put the nurses and aides at their ease. I didn’t know I’m not supposed to do that.) I struggle endlessly with the computer program and can’t recall how to navigate it when I’m under duress. I was unprepared for yesterday’s team meeting (which is a mortal sin among surveyors) and didn’t discuss my findings in detail.

I jump around from task to task instead of proceeding in a linear fashion (but how else am I supposed to catch all the people I need to talk to when they’re constantly on the move?). And I still can’t even keep up the pace physically, although this has been the best week I’ve had since I broke my toe in early February (well, that, or I’ve just resigned myself to the fact that the fucker is going to hurt for the rest of my days).

I have never wanted to be fired before. I can hardly wait until it happens.

Which may be sooner than I think. In fact, I’ll be surprised if I still have a job come Monday morning. Even though the survey will go on until at least Monday or Tuesday, I’ve only got one more day and then I’m back in the office for the rest of the week. Seems my trainer for this week has a meeting with the powers that be on Thursday, and I can only imagine what THAT will be about.  I was supposed to stay for the entire survey. You think the handwriting’s not on the wall? I’d have to be blind, deaf, and dumber than an entire bag of hammers not to see what’s coming.

I just hope that when all this is over, I will have finally learned my lesson about overreaching. It’s not that I’ll never be more than a Wal-Mart greeter or a gas jockey for the rest of my life, but I badly underestimated the complexity of this particular job and overestimated my ability to handle it. Somewhere there is a middle ground between menial labor and a high-powered career; I simply need to internalize the fact that I have limits, and when I push them too hard, they push right back.

And again I say: ARRRGGGHHH!!!

 

 

 


All stressed out and no one to choke

I had to endure the holiday without my computer because the power cord wires came unsoldered and my desktop wifi connection was being a bastard. Talk about stir crazy.

Holiday was the usual. Mom spending an exorbitant amount of money on food and Easter baskets then griping she’s broke, they have no food for the week, and her life sucks.

Same old, same old.

My stress level is through the bloody roof. The kids have been in full force and even when my kid isn’t outside, they come play in our yard and try to steal her stuff. I sent them home four times today alone. One boy is only three and lives on the other side of the trail court. Where are these parents? And why would you teach your kid it’s okay to go play in someone else’s yard? I can tell my summer is going to suck big time as far as that situation goes. The new neighbors have a kid Spook’s age and she’s all but allowed over here morning,noon, and night. Which makes me the bad guy having to send her home constantly. Put your kid on a leash and be a fucking parent instead of sending them all to my house. I’m not a daycare,ffs.

I got my living room and her bedroom rearranged during the 23 hours dad kept her. I kicked ass and took names. I am not done by any means, hurricane depression clean up is a major undertaking. But I set two goals and met them both and I feel good about that.

Now R’s getting more business he’s been calling me, wanting me to help him out. I’m not oblivious to the fact that Kenny didn’t have much work all winter so he did all this stuff. Now he’s busy and suddenly I am needed. I am not interchangeable and if I didn’t need a mechanic for my piece of shit car so bad, I’d probably tell him to eat glass.

See how well the Paxil is working? :)

I see the shrink tomorrow. And I am feeling a little better, that’s something. But I can’t remember to take the lithium properly. I mean, five pills every single day at different times of day, plus all my other meds? I didn’t get my level done because it’s not going to be accurate the way I’ve been forgetting to take take half the pills.It’s stressing me out, plus my affect is so off and dead people think I am being hateful because my tone never changes. What affect? I’m dead inside if you discount anger and anxiety. My kittens are adorable fluff balls but I can’t even sound happy talking about them. Lithium is great for leveling moods but the side effects are suckage.

I shall talk to her about it, not that I hold out much hope. I don’t want to be on two mood stabilizers and I sure as fuck am not going on that Abilify again. That stuff was as bad as Risperdal. Pass.

I think  my kid has an ear infection again.

Everything is shit. Which is funny because the other day, I felt pretty damn hopeful. It’s baffling how things change from day to day. Two mood stabilizers and my mood still isn’t stable. Hilarious.

I need to do housework. I want to write. Unfortunately, I am all out of spoons for the day.

I’ll explain the spoon theory another time and link to the blog it originated from. For now…I’m gonna slither off to bed. Maybe my kid will let me sleep two hours before she wakes up ready to party. She’s almost 5 and we’re still doing the infant sleep schedule.

I’d say could life be any more awesome but someone might miss the sarcasm and call me an optimist.


Happy Birthday to MrsBipolarity.com

Today marks one year here at MrsBipolarity.com!

It’s been a great year and I genuinely thank you all for your support.

20140422-193931.jpg

And although it’s been a great year, today is a bittersweet day for me. I attended the memorial service for a beautiful woman, wife, mother, daughter, sister and friend… And so many things to so many people.

In the words of her mother “Bipolar disorder didn’t get the best of her. Her family, friends and loved ones got her best!”

It is however a stark reminder of why we need to fight stigma and educate people about mental illness!

Join me in celebrating life, recovery and stability. But let’s also celebrate the storms in life for they also make us who we are.

Continuing to fight the fight!

Mrs Bipolarity

Happy Birthday to MrsBipolarity.com

Today marks one year here at MrsBipolarity.com!

It’s been a great year and I genuinely thank you all for your support.

20140422-193931.jpg

And although it’s been a great year, today is a bittersweet day for me. I attended the memorial service for a beautiful woman, wife, mother, daughter, sister and friend… And so many things to so many people.

In the words of her mother “Bipolar disorder didn’t get the best of her. Her family, friends and loved ones got her best!”

It is however a stark reminder of why we need to fight stigma and educate people about mental illness!

Join me in celebrating life, recovery and stability. But let’s also celebrate the storms in life for they also make us who we are.

Continuing to fight the fight!

Mrs Bipolarity

The Dinner Guest

I went to a dinner party at my parents’ house tonight.

I wasn’t invited.

Only big deal art collectors and a big deal artist were invited.

My parents live one minute away from my rude yet adequate dwelling–my father’s former studio, just a pole building really.

The way I found out about the dinner party was that my mother was whining on the phone about having to cook again, after having had a dinner party last night, to which I also was not invited.  The guests were the same art collectors.  They bought a lot of stuff, you know.

She was having ribs tonight.  I don’t eat pork.  Maybe that’s why she didn’t invite me.

I decided to make an appearance anyway.  I didn’t dress up: I wasn’t an invited guest.  Jeans and a clean shirt, good enough for a “just dropped in.”

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence when I walked through the door.  They were just sitting down.  The big deal art collectors offered to make me a place at the table.  No thank you, I smiled, I’ve just come by to say hi. The female art collector hugged me.  So did her husband.  The big deal local artist who can’t stand me and makes no bones about it, didn’t want to hug me but I hugged her just to piss her off.  Don’t ask me why she can’t stand me.  I don’t know and I don’t care.

My mother flew at me to try to hug me for the benefit of her invited guests: pretending to be glad to see me, as if I had just blown in from far away instead of down the dirt path.  I sidestepped her.

My dad, of course, was ecstatic to see me, and showed it.  That’s all I wanted.  That’s all I came for.  That, and to let Boo Radley make a public appearance.

And–I admit it–to make a small, silent statement: there is a daughter.  She lives one minute down the path, but we don’t invite her…or speak about her.  She’s disabled…..but we can’t say how, so we just don’t mention her.  And we certainly don’t invite her.

I stayed three-quarters of an hour, enough to be polite.  For table talk, my mother announced she had booked a massage with the new massage therapist in town.  Big deal artist said she’d already been (of course).  I asked her the details, what it cost.  A dollar a minute.  Maybe I could trade her, I said.  Lots of massage therapists are happy to trade with me.

My mother snorted audibly(cringe).  “What have you got to trade?”  Acid dripping on the floor.  Sssssssssss………

“Acupuncture,” I answered.

“What?”  As if she hadn’t heard me the first time.

“Acupuncture, or a custom perfume.”  My voice sounded hollow in my ears.  The noises of the dinner party pounded.  The woman rich art collector looked up sharply.  She had heard.  How could she not have?  My mother’s voice is famous for its booming quality.  She does not need a microphone.

I sat silent in my chair, which I had pulled up outside the inner circle of diners.  Images flashed: little girl circulating the loud and laughing room with trays of hors d’oeuvre,  smiling politely, speaking when spoken to and shutting up at the hard glance across the room.  Back to the kitchen to reload the tray, careful to make an artful arrangement for the guests to dismantle one by one, or maybe by twos and threes if it was caviar on cream cheese.

Then help serve the meal, and sit quietly (“children are to be seen and not heard”) unless there happened to be one of my special adult friends present, in which case I was allowed to sit next to them and talk for a little while, as long as I was not “monopolizing” them. It’s important that children learn how to conduct themselves at dinner parties, especially when there are honored guests, so that they don’t embarrass their parents.

After clearing the table (“Thank you, dear”) I was expected to disappear to my room, which is where I wanted to be, while the adults repaired to the living room to get drunk.

I stood, carefully replaced my chair where I had found it, and put on my wraps.  It’s still a bit chilly here, nights.

“Oh, are you leaving us?” cries the big deal art collector woman.

“You’re leaving?” says dad, tearing up.  I can’t kiss the top of his bald head because my mother is swinging at me, trying for a fake hug, and he’s stuck on the other side of her.   Leave it for tomorrow.

I smile and say goodbye, hope to see you again soon, making eye contact with the big deal art collectors.  Fuck the big deal artist, she can’t stand me anyway.  And she’s parked her gently ostentatious new car in an impossible place in the driveway.  I have to make a 5-point turn to get around her.

Back in my pole barn, I feel like having a drink or two or three or four, but I know it will only give me a bigger headache.  What about organizing some of this unbelievable clutter instead?  Do something constructive, shake it off.

Leave it for tomorrow.

Pass the hors d’oeuvres, please.